


They Will Give The World Another Heart

by BetsyByron



Series: Collected wee fics [5]
Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Inspired by Art, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Real Events, London, Music, Piano, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetsyByron/pseuds/BetsyByron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:<br/>Its loveliness increases; it will never<br/>Pass into nothingness</p><p>St. Pancras International train station. And its pianos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Will Give The World Another Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary are Keats - for somewhat unsubtle reasons ;)
> 
> I recently moved in near St Pancras, and the pianos fill me with delight. 
> 
> Soundtrack: Chopin's Nocturne No. 1 in B Flat Minor, Op. 9-1  
> (but your favourite Chopin piece will do just as well ^^)

Whenever he had a long enough break from overseas missions, James rediscovered the city. He did not like to stay confined in his apartment, and he wasn’t there often enough to get interested in theatre or cinema programs; so he walked. He walked through the streets of London, with no direction in mind, letting his feet guide him, until he stopped for a drink or something otherwise interesting.

That evening, his steps brought him to St. Pancras International. He liked the station, so bustling with people coming, going, happy, busy, such strangers to his life. He had a joyless smile remembering the last time he had taken the train. Well, at least he hadn’t needed to fight with the ticket machine for that, he thought, casting a sorry look to a large Australian tourist who was apparently encountering some difficulty.

When he got into the main hall, he heard the piano. Oh, right, he remembered. Nice touch, pianos in a train station. Not that many people stopped to listen, most of the time, but at least some people stopped to play, and it created a nice atmosphere nonetheless.

As he approached, he could tell this one was quite skilled. He didn’t know much about classical music, but this was no doubt an impressive piece, and very well mastered by its interpreter. A small crowed was gathered in front of the Eurostar arrival gates, and somehow James suspected they were not all waiting for the trains from Brussels or Disneyland due within the next quarter of an hour. Most eyes were fastened on the pianist, entranced by the music and – you’ve got to be kidding me, James almost said out loud. He would have known this nest of black curls anywhere. He would have known the straight back, the narrow shoulders, the lean waist – and even if he wouldn’t, that godforsaken orangey cardigan was unmistakable.

He shifted to the side to get a better view of Q’s graceful profile, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, lips slightly pursed in concentration. He watched his thin, long fingers run on the keys, bringing the instrument to life, and tears in a middle-aged man’s eyes.

“Chopin.” The man said when James looked at him. “One of my favourites.”

“Beautiful.” James nodded, unsure if he was really talking about the music, or rather the musician.

“He’s pretty good with a keyboard, isn’t he?” The other spectator appreciated.

James had to smile.

“You have no idea.”

He shouldn’t have been impressed, or even surprised, to hear Q play the piano; after all, he _was_ more than good with a keyboard, or even several. But this was different. This was…emotional. James did not really understand the music better than he did the lines of code Q created when his hands were flying over the keys, but it touched him, deeper inside, it reached some part of his heart he didn’t know was there.

Beauty, he thought. I am unused to beauty. He only knew the beauty of women, fierce and intense, yet so fragile, so temporary. Half of them he would never see again by choice, the other half took the way out through betrayal or death. Fleeting things he could not even call emotions. And he had never really been one for art, as Q kept reminding him mockingly whenever they evoked their first meeting. _A bloody big ship_ , he would snort, and look at James with something like fondness, beneath the condescension.

The sonata ended, the audience clapped their hands; James smiled softly, and walked away, harvesting that beauty in his heart without a sound.


End file.
